


Visit Caves of Every Beast

by onawingandaswear



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dismemberment, M/M, Magical Realism, Monsters, Murder, Serial Killers, Showers, Will is basically Sally, but don't worry it's not permanent, possibly disturbing themes, weirdly affectionate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onawingandaswear/pseuds/onawingandaswear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nonetheless, I believe a serial murderer with a taste for human flesh will be considered more intriguing than a single severed head.”</p><p>Will clucks his tongue, cloudy eyes staring intently in the wrong direction. </p><p>“Ah, but Frankenstein’s Monster will always trump a sophisticated cannibal.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visit Caves of Every Beast

Will goes missing and Davidson is still at large and it does not take an intelligent man to put the two together, so Hannibal spends a week combing the back alleys of Baltimore for discarded limbs and organs.

It’s a small blessing that Hannibal finds Will’s head on the fourth day, stuffed into a trash bag in a dumpster off West Lombard: eyes filmy and pale, enough neck intact that Hannibal is not concerned about his lover’s vocal cords.

“Hannibal,” Will rasps from the passenger seat, and Hannibal draws his eyes away from the dark city thoroughfare to glance at the disembodied head resting on a painters tray, swathed in a stained towel to prevent unwanted disturbance. 

“I can’t see.” Will continues, raw voice muffled by the stiff cotton.

“Moderate bacterial decomposition,” Hannibal replies, and pulls a corner of the towel from Will’s face, revealing grey skin and Will's cloudy eyes. “Your final resting place was filthy.”

“How long?” Will asks, words heavy around a thick tongue, and Hannibal uses his free hand to unscrew the top from a widemouth water bottle; the sweet, clean scent of aloe fills the car. Hannibal dips two fingers into the liquid and, eyes unwavering from the road before him, brings the dripping digits to Will’s slightly open mouth, wetting his cracked lips and dry tongue.

“Between forty-eight and seventy-two hours,” Hannibal answers, briefly savoring the sensation of Will licking the moisture from his fingertips before moving to repeat the action, wetting Will’s lips again. 

“Davidson?” Will asks when Hannibal pulls away, tonguing his split lower lip, the water causing dried blood to gleam a dull red in the patchy pre-dawn light. 

“It would appear so.”

“And the rest of me?”

“You seem to be a work in progress, but I can reacquaint you with your left leg.”

Will barks out a sound that is too harsh to be a laugh, and Hannibal laces his fingers through Will’s tangled, filthy hair in what he intends to be a comforting gesture.

“This man is predictable,” Hannibal says softly, a sideways glance catching the moment Will’s eyes slip shut at the attention. “I will find him, and I will find the rest of you.”

“Mmm,” Will mumbles, and if he’d still possessed the proper musculature, he would have tilted his head into Hannibal’s hand.

Such is their relationship, now that Will is so forthcoming with his condition.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and both Hannibal and Will are too exhausted to continue the hunt into the morning, so the only real option - given Will’s macabre state - is to return home.

Will’s eyes are closed when Hannibal pulls into the driveway, and Hannibal is almost hesitant to disturb him, but he thinks better of his misplaced compassion.

Hannibal lifts the head into his arms, and Will makes a sound of protest when the towel falls away, exposing the jagged ridges of his torn neck.

“Your clothes,” Will says, voice muffled against Hannibal’s waistcoat.

“My clothing will be the least of our concerns.” Hannibal smiles and rubs a thumb across Will’s cheek.

“Right, because you don’t care about blood on your obscenely expensive suit jacket.”

“No, I care about you, and finding the rest of you in a timely fashion. I believe that is worth the price of several articles of clothing.”

Will falls silent and Hannibal is careful taking the steps from the garage.

“I’m sorry,” Will sighs. “This shouldn’t have happened again.”

“Do not apologize for events outside of your control.” Hannibal walks the few steps from his garage to the washroom off the kitchen. 

“I’ll apologize for what I feel responsible for. What did you say you’d already found of me?” Will asks.

“Your left leg, pelvis, torso, right arm and, quite obviously, your head.” Hannibal answers.

“For which I thank you.”

“Thank me when I find the rest of you, hmm?” Hannibal draws the shades, flips on the kitchen lights and sets Will on the cool metal countertop.

“Are we home?” Will asks, noting the change in the lighting.

“Your deductive reasoning never ceases to amaze,” Hannibal announces, rummaging through dish-ware cabinet. 

“And the rest of me?”

“Downstairs.”

“You want me to sleep down there?”

“Of course not. You will sleep with me.”

“Sleeping with a severed head, Dr. Lecter? What will the neighbors think?”

Hannibal can not stifle the laugh that bubbles from the depths of his throat.

“If somehow they managed to stumble upon such a scene, you would be the least interesting aspect of such a conversation.”

“That’s mildly hurtful,” Will mutters, and makes a sound of surprise when he’s picked up and placed gently in an oversized colander. “You’re speaking to a partially decomposed _human head_ , Hannibal, and the head is talking back.”

“Nonetheless, I believe a serial murderer with a taste for human flesh will be considered more intriguing than a single severed head.”

Will clucks his tongue, cloudy eyes staring intently in the wrong direction. 

“Ah, but Frankenstein’s Monster will always trump a sophisticated cannibal.” Will smiles, teeth showing a dirty pale against his mottled, bloodless skin.

Hannibal picks up the colander, careful not to jostle Will too badly and makes toward the hand-carved, mahogany trimmed staircase that leads to the second level.

“Where are you taking me?” Will asks, and Hannibal has not forgotten Will’s temporary blindness.

“The master bath. You are filthy.” 

“Decapitation will do that.” 

Hannibal uses a thumb to nudge Will’s cheek affectionately, and Will flinches at the unexpected touch, accidentally shifting sideways in the pan to come to rest on his cheek. Will sighs, the sound tinny and muffled against the tempered steel, and Hannibal neglects to aid his companion until he’s reached their intended destination: a granite tiled shower stall that’s elegance disguises its careful functionality; the shining fixtures and ambient lighting to distract from the industrial drains and soundproofed walls.

Hannibal turns on the water and waits for the temperature to adjust, taking the moment to remove his clothing, folding each piece neatly despite their ruined state. Will must catch the rustle of clothing, because he asks, “Will you be joining me?”

“Who else will wash the filth from your hair?” Hannibal leans to take Will from the colander and notes the now slightly darker film coating his eyes. “How is your vision?”

“It’s not improving, but I can almost make out your disgustingly expensive bathroom.”

Hannibal smiles and brings Will’s face to his own, pressing his mouth against Will’s bloodless lips.

“Gross,” Will mutters at the action, but his revulsion is not at the intimate action but at the state of his own body.

“I quite disagree,” Hannibal says, and steps under the hot spray of water. “We will have to find you a new set of eyes.”

Will groans and Hannibal moves to the shower bench, fumbling one handed for a bottle of shampoo that Will would otherwise refuse to even consider putting his hair.

“Don’t do that,” Will says. “Don’t start planning.”

“You are unable to see, Will.” Hannibal counters, using both hands to work up a gentle lather and scrub away the dried blood. “And I know someone with an iris color similar to your own.”

Will sniffs in distaste, but counters only with, “Jasmine?”

“You reek of decay and urban squalor. Jasmine.”

“Fine.” Will agrees. “Now, remind me, we’re missing my right leg and?”

“Left arm.”

Hannibal sets will on the tiled bench and moves to wash the remnants of the night from his skin while Will begins rattling off the potential locations of his body parts. Hannibal runs his fingers through his hair and savors the sensation of the warm water covering him from head to toe, loosening his muscles and narrowing his conscious mind to be present only in this moment. 

He finishes washing his skin when he realizes Will has stopped speaking.

“Will?” Hannibal asks, wiping the water from his eyes and glancing back at the other man. Will has fallen to the side and is staring intently where he must think Hannibal is standing.

“I’m tired.” Will mumbles, and Hannibal turns off the water before collecting Will into his arms and stepping out of the shower.

“You are tired, and you are getting new eyes.”

Hannibal towels off Will’s hair and does the same to his own before adjourning to the bedroom, not bothering to concern himself with clothing.

“Trash day is tuesday,” Will mumbles against Hannibal’s chest as he settles them both beneath the sheets.

“Plenty of time. I will search the Inner Harbor tomorrow.”

Hannibal rests Will’s head on the pillow beside him, but not before pressing his lips softly to the man’s damp curls.

“Goodnight, Will.”

Will closes his unseeing eyes and sighs, his breath coming from nowhere Hannibal can identify.

“G’night, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiles and slides into dreamless sleep.

Such is their relationship, now that Will is so forthcoming with his condition.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from William Blake's 'Night'. I completely blame sfumatosoup1. And hey, feel free to drop me a line on my tumblr if you'd like to chat or stay updated on what I'm working on: onawingandaswear.tumblr.com


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